


A Thief in Wolf's Clothing: Part I

by Beuphtiful



Series: Krent Mon Do Akatosh [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possibly Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22151356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beuphtiful/pseuds/Beuphtiful
Summary: Surprised to have survived Helgen and its aftermath, Aerisif makes her way to Whiterun. Terrified by her second interaction with a dragon, and shaken from the following call from the heavens, Aerisif returns to Dragonsreach, where she must start her new life. Her past haunts her, but she must leave it behind if she is to survive. If Tamriel is to survive.
Relationships: Brynjolf/Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Farkas, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Vilkas
Series: Krent Mon Do Akatosh [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1452178
Comments: 20
Kudos: 26





	1. What Is Honor To A Thief?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back!! I've been working on this fic for the last several months, as much as my job allowed. As I really got into writing it, I realized it was going to be WAY longer than I had anticipated, so... 
> 
> Three part work! 
> 
> I'm so so excited to continue the adventures of My Girl Aerisif. I hope you enjoy!

Aerisif climbed the steps up to the great keep towering over Whiterun. She paused a moment at the top and fixed her gaze on the Throat of the World, looming over Tamriel. _Dov-Ah-Kiin_ was still ringing in her ears, rattling her bones. She took a deep breath, and pushed open the doors to the keep.

Inside, the cavernous hall was dimly lit by sconces and the great fire further in. The maid eyed her suspiciously. She felt her throat constrict. Could the maid know who she was? _No, you’re wearing a helm. Your face is hidden, idiot._ She kept her gaze forward and marched onward into the hall.

She could hear the conversation from the other side of the hall. “You heard the summons. What else could it mean? The Greybeards…”

Balgruuf watched her approach the throne expectantly. “So what happened at the watchtower? Was the dragon there?”

Aerisif swallowed to wet her dry throat. “The watchtower was destroyed, but we felled the dragon.”

“Divines help us.” Balgruuf cursed. “I knew I could count on Irileth,” he eyed Aerisif inquisitorially. “But there must be more to it than that.”

Looking down, Aerisif hesitantly continued. “There’s more,” she started, twisting with anxiety. “Something…happened, when we felled the dragon. Your men seem to think that I may be,” Aerisif shrunk away, “the Dragonborn.” She was nearly whispering by the end.

Jarl Baalgruf stroked his beard from his throne and nodded, his eyes glazed, his mind elsewhere. “So it’s true,” he murmured. “The Greybeards really were summoning you.”

“It’s just what the men were calling me, I—“

“Not just the men. The Greybeards seem to think the same thing.”

The man the Jarl had been conversing with before spoke up. “Didn’t you hear the thundering sound as you returned to Whiterun? That was the voice of the Greybeards, summoning you to High Hrothgar! That hasn’t happened in…centuries, at least. Not since Tiber Septim himself was summoned when he was still Talos of Atmora!” The Nord was visibly excited.

Balgruuf chuckled. “Forgive my brother’s passion for history. But whatever happened when you killed that dragon, it revealed something in you.”

The beast that had awoken in her at Helgen fluttered its wings.

“If the Greybeards think you’re Dragonborn, who are we to argue? You’d better get up to High Hrothgar immediately. There’s no refusing the summons of the Greybeards. It’s a tremendous honor.”

_What is honor to a thief?_

Balgruuf rose, lifting his broad frame from the throne. “You’ve done a great service for me and my city, Dragonborn.” Aerisif flinched at the word. “By my right as Jarl, I name you Thane…” His voice trailed off as he looked between Hrongar and Proventus. Both panicked as they realized they did not know Aerisif’s name.

It was Proventus who spoke. “Your name? Tell the Jarl your name.”

“Ae—“ she started, but choked the word off before she could speak it. She could not use her real name. They would find her. Everyone would know who she was.

The Steward was growing impatient, and so was the Jarl. “Tell the Jarl your name, stranger.” Proventus was glaring now.

Aerisif panicked.

The Jarl’s eyebrows started to rise at her delay.

“Kjolti, Jarl Baalgruf. My name is Kjolti.”

He nodded solemnly. “I name you Thane Kjolti of Whiterun. It’s the greatest honor that’s within my power to grant. I assign you…” he considered a moment, then snapped his fingers at Hrongar. “Lydia, as a personal Housecarl, and this weapon from my armory to serve as your badge of office. I’ll also notify my guards of your new title.” He grinned. “Wouldn’t want them to think you’re part of the common rabble now, would we? We are honored to have you as Thane of our city, Dragonborn.”

Aerisif let out her breath, as they all accepted her new identity.Someone handed her a sword, and Aerisif accepted the gift. Proventus was leaning toward the Jarl, speaking on a different matter. Hrongar crossed his arms and gave Aerisif a stern look. She was dismissed.

Aerisif turned and began to walk out of the hall. A young woman with brown hair approached her. She wore a full set of steel armor, a Whiterun shield on her left arm, and a steel sword on her back.

“It is my honor to serve you, my Thane.” The woman dipped her head respectfully. “I am Lydia, your housecarl. It is my duty to protect you, and all you own. I am your sword, and your shield. I will follow you wherever you go, Thane, and I will wait tirelessly where you command. If you have a home, I shall guard it.”

Aerisif nodded, hoping her dismay wasn’t showing on her face.

_This woman is going to follow me, fight for me, die for me?_

The image Brynjolf getting dragged away flashed before her.

_I can’t have that. I can’t be responsible for that. If I am to be the Dragonborn, I cannot have another do my fighting._

Lydia seemed to understand Aerisif’s pause. “Or, if you would like, I can wait for you here.”

Relief flooded Aerisif. She hoped she maintained composure. “Yes, I think here will be just fine. I will find you here when I am ready. Lydia, yes?” The housecarl nodded. “Thank you Lydia, I’ll be back for you.”

Lydia bowed her head, and turned and walked away.

Aerisif let out her breath again.

_Get your head on straight, or they’ll find out what you are. This is just like a job, Aer. Its a job where you have to act a part to fool the mark before you rob them blind._

As persuasive as she was, Aerisif could not convince herself.

She straightened, and walked out of Dragonsreach back into the sunlight of Whiterun.

Aerisif walked slowly down the steps back into the city. Whiterun sprawled in the shadow of High Hrothgar. She craned her neck once more, still unable to see the top of the behemoth mountain. She felt her pulse start to rise again.

 _The Greybeards have summoned the Dragonborn._ She could still feel their call reverberating in her bones. _The Greybeards have summoned ME._

At the bottom of the steps, she turned left. The religious zealot was still shouting.

She could feel hot tears pooling behind her eyes.

Jorrvaskr loomed over her, and a memory clawed at Aerisif. It was too much.

Aerisif started to sprint through the streets, unable to stem the tide of emotion. Citizens looked at her strangely, some shouted at her, but she could not hear them. She ran and ran.

Finally she found a shadowed corner of the great walls surrounding the city. Out of sight and earshot of the town, she let herself sob. Aerisif collapsed on the ground and let everything flow out of her. The days after Brynjolf’s death had been so void of feeling, and the events at Helgen and the Watchtower too much for her. Curled into a ball against the stone she wailed. Grieving for Brynjolf, grieving for her family, grieving for herself. There wasno way she could live up to the mantle of Dragonborn. The gods were cruel. By choosing Aerisif they had doomed all of Tamriel. A thief was not a hero.

***

Aerisif didn’t know how long she hid there. She could feel her eyes were swollen from crying, and was grateful once again for the helm hiding her face. She needed some provisions. _I need coin._ Aerisif didn’t need to look in her coin purse to know it was empty, but she knew how to fill it. Gathering herself up on shaky legs, she headed to the market.

She scanned the shoppers for marks. _There._ A Whiterun guard stood with his back to shadows. _Too easy._ Aerisif casually made her way around the general goods store, not making eye contact, not walking with any purpose. The bushes and shadows on the other side of the store made for easy cover. She crouched and silently crept toward the guard. Aerisif felt her nerves actually lower as she cut his purse. She could hear Brynjolf’s gentle praise at a job well done, but bit her lip to stem the tears in her eyes. _No._

She found only twelve septims in his coin purse. Hardly enough to buy anything, but it was a start. Pocketing them, she slid away and searched for another target. In light like this, it was going to be hard to steal anything good. She waited, looking for the right fool.

Half an hour later, Aerisif found her coin purse sufficiently full and no one the wiser to her crimes. _This is my skill set,_ Aerisif thought. _How am I going to save Tamriel like this? I can’t STEAL a dragon to death._

Aerisif stepped into the Bannered Mare. With a roughly made steel helm she had picked up in Helgen covering her face, no one dared bother her. They might look at her strangely, in her mismatching armor, but they wouldn’t mess with her. She ordered a mead and a meal from the barkeep and sat alone in the corner, trying to gather some courage for what she had to do.

The Companions were famed across Skyrim, across Tamriel, for their prowess in battle. They were the most fearsome warriors for hire. If anyone could teach her to be a warrior, it was them. She could think of no other option. Aerisif was a thief, a really good thief. While she was deadly with a dagger, she was no warrior. Aerisif had no real clue what to do with a weapon. She could handle a bow okay, but she couldn’t call herself an accomplished archer. She needed to learn how to fight with steel.

Summoning all her courage, liquid and otherwise, Aerisif downed the last of her tankard and left the inn. She strode right up the steps to the Wind District and to Jorrvaskr. With a deep inhale at the top, she pushed open the doors and stepped inside.

Inside Jorrvaskr there was shouting and cheers. Once her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Aerisif saw a brawl happening in the corner. A Nord and a Dark Elf were taking vicious swings at each other, to the encouragement of their peers.

_The fuck kind of place IS this?_

Her presence had been noticed by a man watching the fight, a tall Nord with blond hair. He stumbled over to Aerisif. He was drunk.

“Who are you?” He blurted out.

Taken aback, Aerisif didn’t have an answer for him. She was lucky that an older man, taller and more imposing, walked over and clapped a sturdy hand on the drunkard’s shoulder.

“Torvar, that is no way to greet guests in our hall,” the white-haired man admonished. He had a nasty scar on his left eye, and wore armor that bore wolves embossed in the metal.

 _Huh,_ Aerisif began to wonder.

“Welcome to Jorrvaskr, girl. What brings you to the hall of the Companions?”

Aerisif was prepared to speak now. “Who’s in charge around here?” She managed.

“In charge?” The drunk named Torvar spewed. “I’m in charge of me, and you’re in charge of you.” He grinned.

Aerisif did not like this one.

The old man spoke again. “Torvar here is right. We have no leader. But if you’re interested in joining us—“ he took an appraising look up and down Aerisif. She knew he was unimpressed. “— you’ll want to talk to Kodlak. He sorts out new whelps.”

 _Kodlak?_ Aerisif felt recognition bubble from a dusty part of her memory. _The man who took me to Markarth? He’s still alive?_ “Where would I find him?” She was suddenly grateful for the helm covering her face.

The man tilted his head toward the other side of the hall. “Down those stairs.”

_Then he must be…what was the other man’s name…Skjor!_

Skjor opened his mouth to ask another question, but was interrupted by a fresh round of cheering from the crowd watching the brawl. The Dark Elf had knocked the Nord woman to the floor.

Aerisif slipped away before the men could turn their attention back to her.

_These men know who I am._

Her heart was pumping. She tried to calm herself. _They don’t KNOW who I am. They only know the little girl they escorted to a city. They don’t know the thief she grew up to be._

Down the stairs she pushed the door to the living quarters open, and followed the sound of voices. She paused at a tankard of mead left on a table. She downed it, and kept walking.

_Just some more liquid courage._

At the end of the hall, Aerisif found two men sitting at a table, a young man in his prime and an old man, his face lined with age, speaking in hushed voices. They both wore the same wolf armor as the man upstairs.

 _Maybe the wolf is their sigil or something,_ she mused.

“But I still hear the call of the blood,” the younger of the two men said.

“We all do,” the old man answered in a deep, husky voice. “It is our burden to bear.” He looked up at Aerisif. “Ah, but look. A stranger comes to our hall.”

Aerisif straightened and tried to make herself look as tall as she could. “I would like to join the Companions.”

The two men shared a glance. “Would you now? Here. Take off that helm, girl, let me have a look at you.”

Aerisif panicked.

“Do what Kodlak says, stranger,” the young man growled.

Tensing, Aerisif pulled off the dented helm. Her black hair was matted and sweaty.

Kodlak examined her face for a long while.

 _Well, the woman DID say he tells character by looking into a person’s eyes._ The fire-haired archer outside of Whiterun had given her the idea to join the Companions.

“How many winters have you seen?” Kodlak asked suddenly.

“Five and twenty.” Not a lie.

“Yes, perhaps. A certain strength of spirit.” Kodlak had not stopped examining her face. “You’re from Markarth.”

Aerisif blinked. “Yes.”

Kodlak continued to stare. “You’re Gardimor’s girl.”

Aerisif held his gaze, refusing to show shock at her father’s name. “Yes.”

A tense moment passed. The young man looked back and forth between Kodlak and Aerisif, confused.

Kodlak’s face broke into a smile. “Well well. It seems Skjor was right. We did find a pup that day.”

“Master,” The young man broke the silence. “You’re not truly considering accepting her?”

“I am nobody’s master, Vilkas,” Kodlak’s voice had some steel to it. “And last I checked, we had some empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire burning in their heart.”

“Apologies,” Vilkas bowed his head. “But perhaps this isn’t the time? We haven’t even heard of this outsider.” He flashed a charming smile at Aerisif. He was handsome, but his eyes held false intentions.

Kodlak turned to Aerisif and smiled. “You do not hear and see everything, Vilkas. I saw the fire burning in this one’s heart long before you where even a whelp.”

Aerisif saw the flames that took her home and parents and shuddered.

Vilkas looked confused, but decided against asking.

“How’s your arm, girl?” Kodlak asked.

Aerisif paused. _How much of the truth do I tell him?_ It seemed like Kodlak could sniff out a lie better than your average Nord.

“I have much to learn.” Also not a lie.

Kodlak grinned. “That’s the spirit. Vilkas here will get started on that,” He turned to Vilkas. “Vilkas, take her out to the yard, and see what she can do.” His tone indicated the conversation was over.

Vilkas eyed Aerisif hungrily, greedily, and threw her a wolfish grin. “Aye,” He said happily, and stood from the chair and started walking down the hall.

“So, do you have a name, whelp?” Vilkas tossed his head over his shoulder, grinning.

 _Whelp?_ “Kjolti.” A lie.

“Kjolti,” Vilkas seemed to taste her name. “Welcome to Jorrvaskr, Kjolti. I’m Vilkas, the Master at Arms here.”

“Well met.” Aerisif lengthened her stride to match pace with him. They soon reached the doors that led back to the main floor of the mead hall. She thrust her dented helm back on her head.

Vilkas pushed the doors open and swaggered up the stairs. They had nearly made it to the back doors, where Aerisif assumed lay some sort of training grounds, when Vilkas turned around, smirking.

“Hey, who wants to watch me test the new blood?” He called loudly to the hall.

Aerisif felt her heart drop straight into her stomach.

The sound of chairs scraping against wood mingled with excited clamors. This test, that Aerisif had little hope of leaving with any integrity, was now to be public. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kodlak ascending the steps as well.

_Divines, I’m dead._

The Companions quickly circled around the training yard. Aerisif saw several practice dummies set about. She noted some intended for archery, and began withdrawing her bow.

“Not for this, whelp.” Vilkas’s words were like a whip. “Fight me with steel.”

Aerisif felt her body drop as cold as Atmora.

“Fight…fight you?” She appraised with dread his stocky build, his thick arms, the fine steel armor he wore. The onlooking Companions chuckled.

He laughed, flashing white teeth. “Aye, whelp! Show me what you’re made of!”

She reached for the dagger hanging at her hip. Vilkas laughed again.

“Don’t insult me by calling that toy a weapon. Use real steel!”

Aerisif looked down at the dirt. “I…I have no sword.”

Vilkas made an exasperated sound. “We use blunted steel for training, whelp. Grab your weapon of choice from the rack.” He jerked his thumb toward a large wooden frame holding a multitude of weapons.

Aerisif numbly walked over. Swords, axes, and hammers of all kinds hung before her. If she had been thinking clearly, she might have picked something that was close to the dagger she was used to wielding, like a nice light sword. Maybe even an axe, for show.

 _If_ she had been thinking clearly.

The fear and hatred that pulsed in Aerisif clouded her judgement.

Full of anger, she reached instead for the largest sword she could find. A heavy, brooding greatsword filled both her hands.

Aerisif managed to keep her face steady as she struggled with the weight of the weapon.

 _Shor’s bones! What have I done?_ It was too late to turn back now. They had all seen her pick the greatsword. She grunted and found some balance in the blade, and stomped back over to the dirt circle.

Vilkas raised an eyebrow. “Quite the choice, you’ve made. Know how to use that thing?” He teased, smiling.

_Oh, gods, he knows._

Aerisif responded by straightening her helm quickly, before she lost her grip on the two-handed sword.

Chuckling, Vilkas walked forward until he was just a few paces away from Aerisif. He raised his longsword above his head and swung.

To both Aerisif and Vilkas’s surprise, she managed to move her sword in time to meet his attack. The metal rang out and Aerisif’s eyes widened in shock.

Cheers rung out from the onlookers.

Aerisif’s arms already ached from the impact of the blow, but she forced them to swing the sword around and try to land a blow. She nearly fell as the weight of the blade swung too far from her center of balance.

Vilkas used the opportunity to strike Aerisif’s torso. The dulled blade scraped horrendously against the cheap armor Aerisif had scavenged.

Winded and knocked back several paces, Aerisif had managed to stay on her feet, but her sword had dropped to the ground.

Relentless, Vilkas swung again. Aerisif again raised her sword in time to block, but already weakened, his blow knocked her sword aside like it was nothing. As she was death-gripping the blade, Aerisif flew with it when Vilkas knocked it aside, and again lost her balance. Vilkas swung low and knocked her legs out from under her.

Aerisif landed in the dirt with a thud that reverberated through her whole body. She tasted the coppery tang of blood.

Around her there was an explosion of laughter. They cheered for Vilkas, who was facing the crowd of onlookers with arms raised. He looked so _damned_ cavalier, relishing in his easy victory.

Fire burned in Aerisif’s chest. Her blood was pulsing, rushing, charging through her veins.

The beast that had been awoken in Helgen reared its head again. It was raging.

 _This will not do,_ it gritted.

Fuming, Aerisif pulled herself from the dirt. She threw the cumbersome sword to the ground, where it kicked up a small cloud of dirt.

She had caught the attention of some of the crowd.

Locking her eyes on this cocky bastard, she spat blood from her mouth, let loose a battle cry, and charged Vilkas.

He had not fully turned around before she was upon him. Too close for him to attack with his long sword, she grabbed his wrists. The mail gloves he wore may protect him from steel, but they allowed Aerisif to find the pressure point hidden there. She dug her thumbs in and twisted viscously. He cried out and his sword thudded to the ground, and before he could blink again, Aerisif had spun around, drawn her dagger and held it to his exposed throat, gripping his hair.

The silence that followed rang louder than the cheers and laughter. Aerisif panted from the anger burning inside her, eyes shifting.

_Gods, what have I done?_

Then, shattering the silence, the red haired woman barked out a single laugh. Another followed, and soon she was in fits of a hearty laugh. Soon, the whole crowd of them was cheering “To the Whelp!” and laughing, laughing _at Vilkas_.

Aerisif dropped her dagger and released Vilkas, not daring to look at his face. To her shock, he turned and met her eyes with a coy smile.

The crowd grew silent, and Aerisif saw Kodlak step forward among them. He was grinning from ear to ear.

“Well,” he continued to step forward. “I think perhaps while that was not the fight we expected, it was the fight we didn’t know we wanted to see.” he smiled. “I am not certain, however, that you are a good fit for the Companions.” Aerisif felt her face redden. “You certainly have fire, girl, no one here dares deny that. But your swordsmanship is lacking…”

“I will train her, Kodlak.”

The voice came from her left. Aerisif laid eyes on the man and did a double take. She snapped her head to the right, where Vilkas stood, and back to the left, where this other man stood, with Vilkas’s face.

 _Twins,_ she quickly understood. This one was somehow even sturdier built than his brother. While Vilkas kept his hair tidy and kept, his brother left his long and wild.

Kodlak seemed surprised. “Will you, Farkas?” He turned again toward Aerisif. She was still breathing heavy from the fight and her fire. He found molten steel in her eyes. He nodded to himself. “Perhaps. Kjolti, you have one month to train and then test again. If you can prove yourself worthy at the next moon, you will earn a place in Jorrvaskr among the Companions. Farkas, you have lots of work to do. See that it is done well.” He walked off, and the rest of the Companions followed.

Vilkas had come up to Aerisif unnoticed. “I see that I was wrong about you! I thought that you wouldn’t last more than five minutes. You didn’t even last one!” He belted out a laugh deep from his belly. He saw her unsmiling face. “Ah, I jest! Once you learn how to wield steel _with honor_ , I will gladly knock you down again. Unless, of course, you’re interested in a different sort of getting knocked around before then?” He winked at her.

Aerisif recoiled in disgust. _Is he for real?_ She put her hand on her dagger and opened her mouth to say something regrettable when she was interrupted.

“I’m Farkas. I’m going to train you.”

Aerisif looked him up and down. _Gods, I’m lucky I wasn’t fighting this brother._ “Kjolti.” She offered by way of greeting, nodding.

“I liked the way you shamed my brother in front of everyone. He needs to be embarrassed every now and then.”

“Embarrassed? Ah, brother, did you not see the first part of the fight? Where I swatted this whelp to the ground like a fly?” Vilkas flashed a smile at Aerisif.

 _This man has more weapons than his sword, and he knows it._ She knew his kind. Dangerous.

“I saw how she disarmed you like you were the whelp.” Farkas grinned at his brother. “When was the last time you were disarmed?”

Vilkas shoved his brother playfully. “Ah, come off it. You have work to do!” He strutted away. Aerisif marveled at his confidence.

“Come here. Let me show you how to hold a greatsword. Your grip is all wrong.” Farkas had picked up the dulled practice blade like it was no more than a twig. His eyes were soft and his voice was kind.

 _Twins, yes, but perhaps only on the outside._ Aerisif nodded and watched closely. She knew her life depended on it.


	2. Part Of The Shadows

“Harder.”

Aerisif sighed. She picked up the greatsword once again and lifted it above her head. With a grunt, she brought it down on the practice dummy in front of her. The steel met the wood frame with a crunch, and this time splintered the dummy.

“Good. Again.”

Aerisif grit her teeth and obeyed. Her arms were aching from the training, but she lifted the sword again. She checked that her feet were positioned correctly before bringing down the sword again. The wood dummy cracked again.

“Good. Again.”

This time Aerisif turned. Farkas stood a few paces away, arms crossed. His face was relaxed but his eyes were focused.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” Aerisif protested.

“I am not. Again.”

Mumbling profanities and names of divines under her breath, Aerisif took up the stance once more. She raised the blade and brought it down on the practice dummy. This time, it sliced clean through.

“Excellent! And you held control of the blade in the follow through. Now, you just need to be able to do that in one swing, not five.”

Aerisif nodded, too exhausted to say anything. As much as she was frustrated with her training, she knew that Farkas was right. She _had_ to get better. Her life depended on it. Everyone’s life depended on it.

Farkas thrust a cold tankard at her. “Drink.”

Aerisif pulled her dented helm off and poured the cool water on her face, drinking some and letting the rest trickle on her face and down her armor. The sun was blazing that day, and the practice yard offered no shade.

Farkas looked hard at Aerisif. “Tired?”

She nodded wordlessly.

“Ready to stop?”

She shook her head.

Farkas grinned. “Good. I was hoping you would say that. Helm on, sword up.”

Aerisif obeyed. She pushed the old iron helm back on her head and began to pick up her sword. But before she even had both hands on the dulled practice blade, Farkas was bearing down on her.

Panicked, Aerisif scrambled back several paces while she tried to lift the enormous blade. Farkas swung at her, but her evasion had worked and the tip of his sword only grazed her patched armor.

“You have to have fast reflexes!” He chuckled, swinging at her again.

This time she was more prepared. Aerisif managed to swing her sword up to meet his, like he had shown her.

“Good!” Through the slits in her helm she saw him smile. Unlike his twin brother, there was nothing duplicitous in Farkas’s grin. The man showed his emotions honestly, and Aerisif appreciated that.

With a ringing scrape, Aerisif felt a sharp blow to her ribs and felt the hard dirt ground as she was knocked down. Head still spinning, she pushed herself up again, hearing Farkas shout something to her, but she couldn’t hear what in her daze.

_Probably telling me to stay on guard,_ she figured, almost hearing his teaching mantras in her head.

Back on her feet, she caught sight of him rushing at her again. She flew her blade up to block once more, and heard her success in the ringing of steel. This time she swung the sword around to try to hit Farkas, but he easily blocked the attack.

Aerisif was trying to remember everything he had been saying, to get her footwork right, checking if she had the right balance with the blade, fixing her grip— and then it went dark.

A torrent of icy water jolted her back.

“Kjolti?”

She sputtered and blinked. Squinting, she saw Farkas squatting in front of her, an empty tankard in hand and eyes full of concern.

“Did I hit you too hard?” He asked timidly.

Her head was pounding. “No,” she lied weakly. “I need to learn somehow.”

Farkas was still fixing her with a worried look. Her silver eyes were glazed and unfocused. “We’re done for today,” he stated. “I don’t like to keep training whelps after they’ve been knocked out.”

“I’m not a whelp, though. We can keep going,” she protested, even though every inch of her body begged for rest.

“That may be, but we’re done for today.” Farkas offered a hand, and Aerisif took it. He lifted her like she was no more than a child.

“Fine.” Aerisif picked up her now even more dented helm and sighed. It was truly in sad shape. She had picked it up on her way out of Helgen in desperation, and it was the only one she owned.

“You would do much better if you had a proper helm and amor,” Farkas said. “That one doesn’t fit you, and it is too worn. And you need to learn how to fight with the weight of real armor.”

Aerisif nodded, but said nothing in her shame.

“It’s too bad Eorland won’t make you armor until you’ve passed your test.”

“I understand, Farkas. I’m not one of you. He can’t let just anyone use The Companions’ resources.”

“Not one of us _yet._ You’ll be a Shield-Sister soon, Kjolti.”

Aerisif nodded. “Right.” She tried not to sound too pessimistic, since Farkas was so sure of her and he was helping her out of his own kindness. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Rest well. We continue at dawn.”

Aerisif placed her training blade back on the rack. She was only allowed to use the dulled sword in the training yard. Vilkas, the Master at Arms, had made that very clear to her. Among other things.

She slowly made her way around Jorrvaskr toward the market. She tried to spend as little time inside the mead hall as possible, feeling too ashamed to set foot inside until she had been truly accepted into their numbers. The sun was slipping under the Whiterun walls, bathing the town in a warm orange light and stretching out long, dark shadows.

Aerisif tucked a hand inside her coin purse as she gingerly walked down the steps to the Plains District. She frowned at the small handful of septims that remained. It was not enough for her room at the Bannered Mare and a meal.

She took in the market. The shoppers were moving lazily, complacent in their safety. Aerisif slipped into a shadow.

It only took a few minutes for her to refill her coin purse. Septims were easy to steal, and Whiterun’s citizens were well off and carried coin.

She made her way into the inn. Hulda looked up from counting coin at the bar. “Your usual?”

Aerisif nodded. She placed the stolen coin on the counter. Hulda handed her a bowl of whatever stew had been cooking all day, two bottles of ale, and the key to the room she had been renting.

“Yours for the day,” Hulda said in the same voice she always did. “You know which one it is.”

Aerisif took the food and bottles and made her way upstairs to the rented room. Once safely behind the locked door, she pulled off the dented helm and sat down. Despite wanting to inhale the plate of food, Aerisif made herself eat slowly, savoring the meal. She could only afford the one meal a day. Usually, Farkas brought out something left over from the mead hall for her to eat during their midday break in training. Along with their equipment, Aerisif was also prohibited from enjoying The Companions kitchen until she was a member.

She sat quietly at the small table and ate her meal in compromised peace. Her body ached and her mind was swimming, drowning, in thought. A candle flickered in front of her, projecting light and shadows around them room.

A memory consumed her.

_Aerisif was a child, wailing by the remains of her family’s farm in the Reach. Hunched into a ball, she sobbed out everything that was in her. She must have fallen asleep once she no longer had anything left to release._

_She awoke to a gentle but firm shake of her shoulder. For one blissful moment, she thought it was her father rousing her to do her morning chores. Then she opened her eyes._

_Two gray-haired strangers in gleaming armor stood over her. They jumped back a little once she opened her eyes, seeming surprised that she was alive. Aerisif must look a mess. She didn’t know how long she had been laying there, in the ruins of her home, mixed in the ashes._

_“Told you,” one said to the other. He stepped toward Aerisif with his arm extended. “Let me help you, child.”_

_But Aerisif bared her teeth at these men, these strangers who presumed to touch her._

_The second man chuckled softly. “Perhaps we have found a pup,” he said._

_“There is such a thing as too young for the Companions, Skjor,” the closer one admonished. He turned and smiled at Aerisif. “But I know a fighting spirit when I see one. What happened here, girl?”_

_Aerisif lifted herself from the ground and shuffled a little farther out of reach of the man. She held hugged her knees and glared at the strangers._

**_Don’t they know this is our land?_ **

_“Kodlak,” the one named Skjor called. “I think this is the place. It matches the description from Gardimor’s letter. I think we’re too late.”_

_Kodlak rose and surveyed the ruins. He walked toward the demolished house, put a hand on the burnt pillars. Kodlak ran his fingers in the gashes in the wood. “Serrated. Forsworn swords.”_

_“Kodlak,” Skjor whispered. “Look.” He motioned to where the remains of Aerisif’s parents lay._

_“The bodies,” Kodlak mused. “That has to be the work of fire magic.”_

_The two men shared a meaningful look._

_Kodlak turned to Aerisif. “Girl, what happened here?”_

_Aerisif began to cry._

_“They could be coming back,” Skjor warned. “We shouldn’t linger.”_

_Kodlak crouched down to be at eye level with Aerisif. “Child, you need to leave. Come with us. You are not safe here.”_

_A wild cry echoed through the mountains. Both Kodlak and Skjor snapped their heads towards the sound._

_Two Forsworn came barreling down the mountainside, weapons raised._

_Kodlak grabbed Aerisif by the arm, pulled her up, and flung her toward a grove of trees. “Hide!” he hissed, withdrawing his blade from its sheath._

_Aerisif stumbled behind a large tree. She watched as Skjor and Kodlak ran into battle, swords drawn. The grove of trees was thick, branches intertwined with each other. Aerisif deftly climbed the tree in front of her and scurried tree to tree across the branches. Soon enough she was within a stone’s throw of the battle on the ground._

_The acorns that grew in these trees were small, but hard, pointed little things. Aerisif plucked one and tested its weight in her hand. It might work._

_She took aim, and hurled the tiny acorn at the Forsworn on the ground. It met the flesh of the foe with a satisfying_ **_thwap._ ** _She threw another. This one hit their head, and made an even more satisfying_ **_thunk._ ** _The Forsworn was distracted enough to give Skjor the upper hand, and he drove his sword through._

_With two on one, the remaining Forsworn never really had a chance._

_Skjor and Kodlak walked over to the tree Aerisif had climbed. She looked down at them._ **_This is the tallest tree in the grove,_ ** _she realized._ **_I’ve never been up this high. Mother wouldn’t let me._ ** _The ground seemed so far away._

_“Child, we need to leave. We will take you to the orphanage in Riften.”_

**_Riften?_ **

_“Climb down now, girl. We need to go. The journey is far.”_

_Aerisif took a deep, steadying breath. “No.”_

_Kodlak blinked. From here, Aerisif noticed the wolves embossed into their gleaming armor. “So, she speaks.” He raised an eyebrow. “Come now, we need to get you to Riften.”_

**_Riften is in The Rift. The Rift is the other side of Skyrim. The east side._ ** _Aerisif remembered her father showing her a map once, teaching her the holds. That is not home._

_“I don’t want to go to Riften. Take me to Markarth.”_

_Skjor and Kodlak exchanged a glance, surprised by her boldness. “There isn’t an orphanage in Markarth. We have to take you to Riften. Now climb down.”_

_“I have an aunt. In Markarth.” Aerisif lied._

_“Fine, we’ll take you to your aunt, but you have to climb down,” Kodlak sighed, clearly frustrated._

_Aerisif reluctantly made her way down the tree._

_The day hike to Markarth was short and uneventful. Aerisif resumed her mutism, but listened to the men talk to each other. They were Companions, and they used the word like a title. They said it with a swell of their chests. To be a Companion was a thing of honor, she learned. There were more of them. All fighters._

_“This one might be one of us, one day,” Skjor smiled down at Aerisif._

_“Let it go, Skjor. She is a child.”_

_“A child with a warrior’s spirit! Did you see her pelt the Forsworn with those acorns?”_

_Aerisif didn’t know what to do with the image of her as a fighter. She thought she would look pretty silly in their wolf armor. Besides, she was going to be a farmer, like her father. When her eyes filled with tears, she turned them to the ground. She didn’t want the men to see her crying anymore. They thought she was a warrior._

_Inside the city gates, the men received stiff nods of respect, and calls of “Hail, Companion.” They turned to her in the market._

_“Child, where does your aunt live?”_

_Aerisif panicked. “Ummm…” She looked around. She had only been to Markarth a few times with her parents. She hadn’t thought of what to do when she got here._

**_I could run to the city guard? Tell them these men took me? No. That would get them in trouble, and I don’t want to get them in trouble. And the city guard would just send me to the orphanage._ **

_A scream pierced the air from across the market. Kodlak and Skjor turned and put their hands on their hilts._

_Aerisif could not think of a better distraction. She turned and_ **_ran_ ** _, as fast as she could. She leapt up the stone steps that led to the upper levels of the city and wove between the stone pillars as quickly as she could. Aerisif flattened herself behind a waterfall, hoping she was invisible behind it._

_She would soon become quite skilled at becoming invisible in that city._

Aerisif blinked back to the present, sighed, and looked down at the helm she had been using. It was dented, speckled with blood and rust, and too large. She fingered the new dent in it from Farkas’s blade today.

_This has served its purpose._ Aerisif tossed it aside. _I need a new helm, and I’m going to get one the only way I know how._

She slipped into the shadows. None of the Bannered Mare’s patrons saw her or heard her open the door into the city. Even without her Nightingale armor, taken from her at Helgen, Aerisif was one with the night. The shadows were part of her.

***

Farkas blinked when he saw her the next morning. “You have new armor,” he stated.

Aerisif nodded.

“Where did you get it?”

“Do I ask you where you get your armor?”

“Everyone knows where I get my armor. Eorland makes my armor.”

Aerisif sighed. “It’s none of your business.” She hoped he wouldn’t press it further. She was not used to being questioned about where she got things. In the Guild, no one asked. Everyone knew. Everything was stolen.

Farkas looked at the ground for a moment. Then he shrugged and walked over to the weapon rack. He picked up the dulled greatsword that Aerisif used for training and tossed it to her. “Catch.”

***

When the sun set that evening, both Aerisif and Farkas were soaked with sweat. The new armor was both a blessing and a curse for Aerisif; it weighed her down and slowed her already delayed responses, but she was able to take much more of a beating than she had before. The new armor was proving to be more valuable than Aerisif thought. It held up even after a full day of training with Farkas.

The pair pulled hot metal helms off of sweat drenched hair, panting. As they placed their weapons on the rack, Farkas broke the silence.

“Kjolti, where do you stay?”

The question surprised her. “What?”

“Where do you stay? Since you can’t sleep in Jorrvaskr yet.”

She wiped stinging beads from her eyes. “The Bannered Mare, when I can afford it.” She looked at him. He was looking at her with a calculating gaze.

“What do you do when you can’t?”

_Steal until I can,_ she thought. _Better not say that._ She shrugged and looked away. “I have a bedroll,” she let the implication hang in the air.

Farkas nodded, understanding. “I see. Once you are a Shield-Sister, then you can sleep in Jorrvaskr, like the rest of us. The fire is always burning inside.”

Aerisif looked at the looming building, still intimidated by it. _If I ever feel worthy of it._

She trudged over to the Bannered Mare, still curious about her interactions with Farkas. She entered the dark inn and walked over to the counter, placing coins onto the bar.

“My usual.” Hulda nodded and procured a meal and two ales.

Aerisif took her meal alone in her room. Her second bottle of ale was to her lips when she heard the bard shouting in the hall below.

“Hail, Companion!” Mikael roared.

_Companion?_ She let her curiosity get the better of her and walked down the hall to see who it was.

Farkas waved up at her from the fire pit, grinning childishly. “Hello Kjolti!”

Aerisif had to chuckle. _How like a loyal dog he is,_ she thought endearingly.

“Come drink!”

Deciding she could handle company, Aerisif slowly made her way down the stairs. Her legs and back were screaming from the beating she took that day.

_Wonder if Hulda has anything stronger than ale…_

Down the stairs, she saw that Farkas was not alone. Aela and Vilkas had accompanied him. Her stomach filled with hot dread.

_Fuck._

But Vilkas was far too interested in Carlotta to pay any mind to Aerisif, and Aela greeted her with a warm smile.

“Hulda, a drink for our friend,” Aela ordered. She appraised Aerisif and the way she gingerly held herself. “Break out some of the Argonian stuff you keep in the back.” She slipped Hulda some extra septims. Aerisif looked at the coin hungrily.

“I can’t pay you back for that,” Aerisif felt ashamed.

“I am not asking you to. Companions need not fret over a few coins.” Aela’s voice was confident and commanding.

Aerisif began to protest. “I’m not a—“

Aela cut her off with a hand. “You’re not _yet._ Farkas here tells me how much stronger you’re getting every day.”

Aerisif glowed a little on the inside, but didn’t let it rise to her face. “I’m trying to, at least.” She said quietly.

Farkas piped up again. “Kjolti has fire in her, and she is beginning to truly understand the balance of the greatsword. Soon, she will have no trouble bringing down foes. Footwork comes naturally to her, and she has picked up blocking faster than anyone else!”

Aerisif couldn’t help herself this time. “Thanks, Farkas.” She allowed a small smile, but it was still tinged with melancholy.

Hulda returned with the drinks. Aerisif involuntarily licked her lips as the Argonian Bloodwine was placed in her hands. She loved the stuff. Aerisif tried not to down it too quickly, but still gulped down about half of it in one go without batting an eye.

Aela and Farkas cheered. “She can drink!”

At this cry, Vilkas wandered back over. Aerisif darkened. He looked at the three of them and joined their cheer, following the reverie by draining his own tankard.

“And she drinks! A fine addition to Jorrvaskr this one will be,” Vilkas looked at her like she was a roast boar, and he a starved man.

Aerisif did nothing but glare.

“Is that Argonian Bloodwine you’re drinking? My my, introducing our new friend to the finer things, aren’t you, Aela?”

“I’ve had Bloodwine plenty before,” Aerisif cut hotly. She could hear herself sound like a child, and could do nothing to stop herself.

“Have you?” Vilkas now leaned on the bar between her and Farkas. Farkas’s brow furrowed slightly, but Aerisif didn’t notice. She was too busy sending daggers into Vilkas’s eyes.

“You know, if it’s fine beverages you like, I’m your guy.” She narrowed her eyes. Behind Farkas, Aela rolled her eyes and snorted.

“What gives you that idea?” Aerisif raised an eyebrow.

He leaned closer. Aerisif could smell mead on his breath. “Oh, I’ve got all sorts of exotic alcohols in my room in Jorrvaskr. Black-Briar Reserve, Sujamma, Colovian Brandy, Argonian Bloodwine…” he let his voice trail off as he looked Aerisif up and down. “I’d love to show you sometime. I think you’ll find my quarters quite comfortable.” Aerisif did not like the lecherous look in his eyes.

Not breaking eye contact, she downed the rest of her Bloodwine. “There is no force on any mortal, Daedric, or Aedric plane that could make me want to go to your quarters, Vilkas.”

There were loud guffaws and snorts of laughter from all around. Other drinkers had overhead the conversation and laughed heartily. Aela wiped tears from her eyes, and Farkas grinned wide.

Still, Vilkas was unperturbed by the remark. “Suit yourself, girl.” He winked and walked off to find Carlotta once more.

“I love the way you continue to shame my brother,” Farkas was still grinning ear to ear. “He needs that.”

“We all do, but him more than some,” Aela chimed in. “I welcome the day I can call you Shield-Sister, Kjolti.”

Aerisif felt something soft budge in her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter! Hope you guys enjoyed, and as always, I love to hear from you all!


	3. Well Done, Footpad

Training went on, and Aerisif did find her strength to be increasing. She never dropped the greatsword anymore, and she blocked more blows than she took. Farkas, Aela, and Vilkas regularly came to The Bannered Mare to drink with Aerisif after training was done. Sometimes they’d wander outside of the tavern and through the streets of Whiterun. It seemed the Companions enjoyed drunken debauchery as much as thieves did.

Aerisif enjoyed their company. It was easy to be around them, and they were never without mead or ale. Aerisif could so easily just hide her thoughts behind the bottle and listen to them share stories of their victories, and there were many to be shared. They would orate magnificent tales of glory, and Aerisif just had to sit and listen. Never had to open her mouth.

One night after training, Aerisif and Farkas sat perched on the roof of the Drunken Huntsman. It was easily closer to dawn than dusk, and several empty bottles lay strewn about them. Aerisif had bet Farkas that she could climb to the rooftop faster than he could. Even with her newly developed muscles, her nimble frame easily won the bet.

Hours later, the pair had lost steam but were not yet ready to call it a night.

“The moon is bright tonight,” Aerisif commented lazily. She took a sip from her ale.

Farkas looked up at the moon with reverence. “It is.”

A peaceful silence sat between them.

“Kjolti?” Farkas broke the calm.

“Yeah?” Aerisif slurred.

“What did you do before you came here?”

She felt a dull thumping in her chest. She knew she should be more worried than she was. “What do you mean?”

Farkas turned to look at her, the moonlight reflected in his eyes. “Before you came here to join the Companions, what did you do?”

Aerisif blinked slowly.“I lived in Markarth.”

Farkas considered that. “I like Markarth. But what did you do there?”

Aerisif looked down at her boots. She didn’t like the idea of lying to Farkas anymore. He was so pure, it felt wrong. He didn’t mean any harm by asking about her, she could tell.

She took a deep breath in, but continued to fix her gaze on her boots. Aerisif felt panic thump behind a screen of mead, unable to break through to stop her. “I was a thief.”

Farkas snapped his head toward her, his wild hair swinging around him. “A thief?” His voice was dark.

Aerisif met his eyes. They were angry, and his brow was furrowed. “A thief. What of it?” She had found some anger left herself.

“Your new armor. You stole it.” She could see the anger brewing in his eyes.

Uncaring, she matched his gaze. “Yes.”

“That isn’t honorable, Kjolti.”

“Yeah, well, life isn’t always full of _honor_ , Farkas.” She didn’t mean to spit the words out but they fired like arrows over her lips anyways. “Sometimes, life is shit and you just gotta make the best of it. So I did.”

Farkas glared at her and stood. He jumped off the roof, landed with a heavy thud, and walked away.

_Fuck, what have I done?_

***

In her anxiety, Aerisif arrived at Jorrvaskr before dawn. She didn’t sleep at all. The possible consequences of her admission to Farkas were running in circles in her head.

If Farkas had told Kodlak, or any of the other Companions for that matter, she was done for. While the occupants of Jorrvaskr may be wild and belligerent warriors, the one moral they held to was honor.

She turned the corner to the back side of Jorrvaskr, unsure of what to see there.The yard was empty. The pre-dawn blue glow filled the grounds.

 _Better get going anyways,_ she thought as she walked over to the weapon rack. She picked up her dulled training blade. Gripping it with both hands, Aerisif practiced the stances and movements Farkas had taught her.

Soon she began moving through the training grounds, blocking and swiping at invisible opponents. Her feet never faltered, the blade slicing exactly where she wanted it to strike.

In her focus, Aerisif did not notice the passing of time. It wasn’t until a sound from behind her disturbed her intensity that she realized the sun was high overhead.

She whirled around, panting, blade poised to strike. It was Farkas.

Aerisif lowered her greatsword, embarrassed. She was unsure what to say. Her eyes searched Farkas’s face and body language for some indication of his mood, but the man was stoic as always.

“Your form has improved a lot.” He finally said.

Aerisif relaxed a little. “You’ve taught me well.”

“Kjolti, I—“

“Have you told anyone?” She interrupted. Her nerves couldn’t handle it.

He shook his head. “No. I haven’t.”

She released the breath she had been holding. “Will you?”

“No.”

Relief flooded over her.

“I want to show you something.” Farkas sounded so grave.

Aerisif was intrigued. “What is it?”

Farkas looked around. “Not here. Follow me.”

“Farkas, what—“ But he had already taken off in a light jog away from Jorrvaskr.

 _What the hell?_ Aerisif dropped the blade and ran to catch up.

She followed him through the Wind District, as he wound through the houses. Farkas abruptly slowed to a walk and tried his hardest to look inconspicuous. He was unsuccessful. It almost made Aerisif laugh, watching this beast of man try to sneak.

Farkas finally stopped between an empty house and the city wall. He glanced around again, suspicious of even the bushes.

“Divines, Farkas, what has gotten into you?” Aerisif was a little winded, still unused to running in full armor.

“Here.” Farkas shoved a small burlap sack into her hands.

Now she was worried. “Farkas, what is in here?”

He looked excited. “Open it!”

Aerisif held the bag out at arms length, half expecting something to jump out at her. When nothing did, she peered inside. She pulled out the object inside.

_A tankard…?_

She examined the tankard, totally bewildered.

Aerisif raised an eyebrow. “Farkas, have you been touched by Sheogorath?”

“Look at it closer.”

The tankard was finely crafted. It had intricate engravings around the base and on the handle.

“This isn’t from Jorrvaskr.”

“It isn’t.” Farkas looked… _proud?_

Aerisif eyed him suspiciously. “Farkas, where did you get this?”

“From Dragonsreach.”

She blinked in surprise. “From Dragonsreach?”

“I stole it.”

Aerisif was dumbstruck. “You stole it?”

He nodded, beaming.

She considered the tankard again. _He stole this._ Aerisif smiled, a real smile this time.

Aerisif looked up at Farkas and grinned. “Well done, footpad.”

***

“Come closer,” Aela ordered. “But move silently.”

Bow still drawn, Aerisif did as she had been commanded. The tall grass of the Whiterun plains swished around her legs.

“Remember, focus on the target, not the arrow,” the huntress instructed. “Breathe in, and release.”

On the final word, Aerisif released the arrow into the crisp morning air. It struck the elk in the neck. The elk staggered. It regained its balance, and wide eyed it tried to run away from the predators. Before it had gone two paces, Aela’s arrow struck it in the eye and the elk crumpled.

“Well done!” Aela praised.

“You brought it down,” Aerisif pointed out.

“Your shot was excellent and your aim true. This kill is ours. It does not belong to either of us alone.”

Aerisif pondered on that as they approached the felled elk. Aela knelt before it. She pulled a hide roll from her pack, and unrolled it to display the various knives and skinning tools within.

Aela skillfully cut open the carcass and withdrew the heart. Aerisif watched with curiosity. Aela pulled the most ornate of her knives out. The steel was clearly Eorland’s handiwork, but the handle was intricately carved antler, carefully polished to display the inlaid carvings.

Placing the heart gently in front of her, Aela took the ceremonial knife with both hands and raised it above her head. “To Hircine!” she cried, bringing the knife down into the elk’s heart.

 _She worships Daedra,_ Aerisif noted with surprise. Thoughts of the enigmatic mistress Aerisif served crossed her mind briefly before fluttering out again. Noctural didn’t much care for this kind of thing.

Aerisif knelt and helped Aela clean the kill.

“It’s always best to clean it right away, before you get to the city,” Aela instructed. “The sooner you can wrap it, the easier it will be. If you leave the offal out in the plains, the wolves and sabre cats go for that instead of your meat.”

Aerisif nodded silently as she wrapped meat in burlap.

“My mother was a Companion, before me.” Aela made conversation while they worked. She looked over to Aerisif, who was working with more focus that what was required. “My father trained me to hunt early on, so as to begin my preparations to follow in her footsteps.” Still, the recruit said nothing. “Unfortunately, my mother died before she could see me inducted into the ranks.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Aerisif managed stiffly.

Aela perked up, pleased to get a response. “She died with honor, and that is all a true Nord can hope for. I am very proud to be her daughter.”

Aerisif skinned the animal with more force, and resumed her silence.

“I often go hunting with Skjor,” Aela continued to chatter. “I find that hunting with your partner builds trust and strengthens a relationship.” She was carefully watching Aerisif’s face. The raven haired woman was working hard to show no emotion. “The patience required, the communication, they are all boons to a couple.”

Aerisif swallowed. “Quite the romantic date,” she jested, but there was some underlying edge to the joke.

Aela smiled anyways. “In our age, I find we have less need of grand romantic gestures. We would rather build a solid structure than go out and paint the town.”

Aerisif only nodded, but her face was struggling to maintain composure.

Aela sighed. Clearly, she was not going to coax an answer out of her. She would need to be direct. “Kjolti, what troubles you? What past are you running away from?”

Aerisif stopped working. She looked up at High Hrothgar with sad eyes. “Why are you so sure it is my past I am running from?”

“You arrive on our doorstep, untrained in combat. Your race to become a warrior is like a deer fleeing from a sabre cat. You are running from something, or from someone.”

Aerisif turned to look at her. “I’m running from nothing. Everything I had has been destroyed.”

“Everything? No family?” Aela raised an eyebrow.

“All gone. Everything, and everyone. Gone.” Aerisif was staring her fiercely in the eye, despite a renegade tear or two trickling down her face.

Aela nodded with understanding. She placed a gentle hand on Aerisif’s shoulder. “Then all there is to do is run toward, now.”

When they had finished, the woman had two equal piles between them. Aela had insisted Aerisif take half the kill before they had gone hunting.

“And this too, Shield-Sister,” Aela thrust the hide into Aerisif’s arms.

“Aela, I’m not a—“

The fire haired huntress cut her off. “I don’t care. You will be.”

“I can’t take this, you earned it. Not me.”

“Kjolti. Just take it.”

“No.”

Aela sighed. “You are already stubborn as any Companion I know. Take the pelt, Kjolti. You need it more than I do.”

Aerisif’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

Aela stared back, unafraid of her show of intimidation. “I sleep comfortably in Jorrvaskr every night. My meals are made for me, the mead flows freely, and the fire burns constantly. My needs are met.” Aela was respectful enough to not point out directly that Aerisif had none of these things.

Aerisif looked at the bloodied grass in front of her. “Right.” She looked up. “Well, thank you.”

Aela smiled. “You are welcome, Kjolti. I’m sure you can sell the meat to Anoriath, or even to Hulda, and I know Adrianne pays well for pelts. You could use the coin to buy some new boots to go with that new armor of yours.”

Aerisif glanced down at her boots. She had pulled them off some Imperial in the aftermath of Helgen. “I suppose I could,” she said.

“You’ll want the best equipment possible for your Testing on Sundas,” Aela called. She was already a few paces ahead of Aerisif. “I know Vilkas is probably polishing his armor as we speak.”

Aerisif caught up. “He may be, but while Vilkas is shining his armor, I am out here honing my skills. Who is the true warrior among us?”

Aela laughed, tilting her head back. The huntress’s hearty laugh always lifted spirits. “Well said, kinsman!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 for you! So excited to share it:)


	4. A Death In Fire, A Birth In Steel

Brynjolf squinted, the harsh sunlight blinding him as he stepped from the cave. He raised a trembling hand to shield his eyes from the sun as he tried to get his bearings. Surveying his surroundings, he could see the road a long ways down from the mouth of the cave.

Limping, Brynjolf slowly began to make his way down. He tenuously stepped down boulders, wincing at any landing that was further than anticipated. One hand clutched his abdomen, still screaming from where his should-be fatal wound was. With every breath he could still feel the Imperial blade penetrating his skin. The Thalmor healer knew what she was doing. No visible trace of the injury remained, but she had made sure that it would still hurt.

The sun was just beginning to descend when he made it down to the road.

_Helgen. Which way is Helgen?_

As if an answer to his silent inquiry, a signpost became visible among the trees. It pointed him up the road.

Brynjolf lurched onward, grimacing. Nothing would stop him in his quest. He had to free Aerisif. For all the questions the Thalmor tore into him with, tortured him for answers, he only had one for them:

“Where did the Imperials go?”

He had seen them pack camp. The Imperials were buzzing with a nervous energy, whispering excitedly to one another. It wasn’t hard to hear what they were saying: _We have Ulfric Stormcloak. We have Ulfric. We’ve won._

Brynjolf sat alert, bound and gagged, searching the camp for any sign of his partner. Exhaustion clawed at his eyes, but he refused to rest. He had to find Aerisif. The camp grew louder as the Imperials began loading a wagon, surrounded by guards. Ulfric was pushed onto it, along with one of his soldiers.

He watched helplessly, as they tossed Aerisif’s unconscious body into the wagon. Brynjolf starting to shout, muffled by the rag in his mouth. He ripped at his bindings. He managed to break free of the worn rope, tore out the dirty cotton they had used to silence him.

Now he had attracted the attention of the guards and the conscious prisoners in the cart. They looked at him with sad eyes, knowing his own fate before he did.

That’s when he felt the icy burn of steel.

His last images were of the cart pulling Aerisif away.

Until he awoke in the cave. Surrounded by stone faced High Elves, wearing the most hated robes in all Skyrim.

Thalmor.

Brynjolf yanked himself from the recollection. He didn’t want to relive this, not now, not ever. He had to get to Helgen.

By sundown he made it to Helgen, and stopped in his tracks. It was a smoldering ruin.

His heart began to beat faster.

Brynjolf pushed open the wooden gate, and it nearly crumbled to ash at his touch. What lay inside made his blood turn cold.

There was not a single structure that was still completely standing. He saw skeletons of houses, remains of shops reduced to ash, stone towers gutted and exposed.

_Is that stone…melted?_

He stepped forward for a closer look. Never before had he seen anything like it, and shivered at the thought of the mage that could wield fire magic like this.

Another step forward dropped him down further than he expected. His foot was in a small crater.

No, not a crater. A footprint. A clawprint.

_Divines…_

Then the smell hit him. The acrid, decaying smell of death and fire. Brynjolf gagged at the odor, searching for its source.

A few paces away from him lay the answer. A burnt, unrecognizable corpse. The fire had eaten away at both flesh and bone, leaving little for the ravens.

Brynjolf wretched, unable to stomach the sight and smell in his weakened state.

_What in the name of Divines and Daedra could have done this?_

Everywhere he turned, he found more destruction. More bodies. He saw the cart that took the prisoners away, or what was left of it, upturned and smoldering. The remains of the horse pulling it were rotting, still attached to the cart, unable to make its escape.

The smell and still hot air made Brynjolf’s eyes water and sting. He searched frantically now, calling out Aerisif’s name. He was answered only with echoes.

Brynjolf pulled himself up the steps of a tower. Maybe Aerisif was sheltering here, away from the massacre that remained on the ground. He reached the top, carefully stepping over gaps in the stairs, but found no living soul.

A strange sound brought his bleary gaze to the sky. He heard it again, still unable to identify it. Brynjolf turned his head, and couldn’t believe his eyes.

A dragon.

He closed his eyes, shook his head. _I must be hallucinating, this can’t be real. I’m just sleep deprived and starved._

But when he opened his eyes again, the dragon was still circling the mountain nearby.

Brynjolf’s heart sank to his stomach and his jaw dropped. The beast was larger than anything he had ever imagined, even in his days as a young lad with a wild imagination. The wings spread wide, and blotted out the sun when they passed in front of it. The tail looked to be thick as the wide trees in the oldest parts in the forest. Ominous obsidian scales armored the monster everywhere.

Then the beast turned its head, and looked at Brynjolf.

Or at least, it seemed to look right at him. The sight of those piercing red eyes was burned into his memory, burned into his soul.

_Gods and shadows preserve us._

***

Aerisif took a deep breath and turned the corner of Jorrvaskr. As she expected, all the Companions had turned out to see her test again. She laid eyes on Farkas, who was approaching her.

“Remember, keep your feet moving. Balanced grip. Stay sturdy, but be flexible.” His eyes were intense with focus. _You’d think it was HIS testing._

Aerisif nodded. “I know, Farkas.”

“Stop trying to coach her, Farkas, she knows what to do.” Aela strode over, her voice full of confidence as always. “You’ve trained her well. There’s nothing more to say, just words of encouragement.” Aela smiled at Aerisif, and she felt a hint of relief.

Farkas considered this for a moment. “You’ll do great, Kjolti. And you can always disarm him again like you did last time, that was a laugh.” He clapped her on the back and walked off.

Aela turned to Aerisif. “Good luck, Kjolti. I long to welcome you into Jorrvaskr.” With a squeeze of her shoulders the huntress walked off too.

Aerisif took a deep breath in and sighed. She could see Vilkas waiting for her, the circle of warriors already formed. Squaring her shoulders, she walked over.

She didn’t bother to look at him as she approached. Aerisif reached the weapon rack, and this time, she effortlessly picked up the daunting greatsword from where it hung. Where before it had felt like reaching for her grave, now it felt like an extension of Aerisif herself.

Her ease with the blade did not go unnoticed. Vilkas raised an eyebrow. “I see you’re more comfortable handling my massive weapon than you were before,” he said with a smirk.

Aerisif fit her new helm on her head. “It’s fitting you are Master at Arms, Vilkas, seeing as how it is your own arm that has the most mastery with your weapon.” She took a fighting stance and began to slowly circle Vilkas.

The gathering of Companions hollered and shouted at her taunt. But Vilkas only grinned wider, matching her movements, blade raised. “Your tongue is sharper than your sword, Kjolti, but seeing as these are dulled blades that is no great feat. However, if you wish you can sharpen your tongue on my whetstones.”

This ignited the crowd even further. Aerisif adjusted her grip and continued to sidestep around the circle. “Such a shame that these dulled training blades are sharper than you shall ever be, and have seen more action in their short lifespan than you shall ever see!” Aerisif swung low at Vilkas’s shins.

The low swing surprised Vilkas, who hasten back a few paces. He threw his blade up to parry and it was met with a jarring clang by Aerisif’s blade. The onlooking crowd cheered, ready for a good fight.

Releasing the crossed blades, they each took a pace and swung again. Vilkas surprised by whirling around and slashing at her calves. She grit her teeth as she felt the blow swipe against her greaves. Aerisif spun and hefted her blade down, clipping Vilkas’s shoulder. Vilkas recovered quick, returning the attack almost instantly. Aerisif was able to see the blow coming and block his blade with her own.

They retracted and began circling another again. The crowd egged them on. While most were cheering for Vilkas, Aerisif could hear Farkas and Aela calling out her name. She smiled under the steel covering her face. Aerisif threw up her sword in defense as Vilkas lunged again. With some clever footwork and quick thinking he swung his blade and slashed at Aerisif’s ribs. She let out a small cry.

_Don’t lose your head, idiot._

Aerisif lunged forward. The spontaneity of the attack surprised Vilkas, and while he escaped the brunt of it, Aerisif did manage to catch some of his mail with the tip of her sword, and the steel scraped against each other audibly.

Vilkas lunged back. Aerisif threw her blade up in defense. She caught the blow but her block faltered slightly. With a twist she turned and was on the offense again. She struck once, twice, thrice in succession. Each was met by a block from Vilkas, making the training grounds reverberate with clashing steel and jeering warriors.

Now Vilkas lashed out rapidly. He swung his blade gracefully, effortlessly, the massive sword dancing through the air like one of those funny curved swords the Alik’r carried. Aerisif, against her will, had to admire Vilkas’s skill as a swordsman. She furiously tried to block the barrage of blows being thrown at her, forced to retreat several paces.

Steel clashed against steel, ringing out. Vilkas was getting more heavy handed with his attacks, and Aerisif’s strength was waning. _I can’t wait for him to tire out, he’s got too much stamina._

She continued to match blows with him, but analyzed his patterns. And then she had it. His system clicked in her head like a picking a lock.

He wanted to show off, so she let him. She danced around the training grounds, dodging swings when she could, blocking when she could not. Aerisif stayed light on her feet, a skill she had learned long before ever meeting Farkas.

Vilkas lunged forward and Aerisif quickly sidestepped. She swung the brooding greatsword fiercely around with a twist of her body, and her blade met Vilkas in the ribs. Another flash and she knocked the blade clean out of his hands.

The crowd of Companions was silent, allowing the _thud_ of Vilkas’s greatsword hitting the dirt to echo across the grounds.

And then came the roar. Aerisif found Kodlak in the crowd. The old man’s wisened face was set in a modest yet approving smile, but his eyes twinkled with amusement. He stepped forward and the Companions silenced themselves once again.

“Vilkas, what is your assessment?”

Aerisif held her breath, expecting a barrage of insults.

Retrieving his sword from the dirt, Vilkas straightened. “I find this whelp’s abilities to be adequate, Sir.”

Aerisif’s heart leapt to her throat.

Kodlak turned back to Aerisif. “The official part of your training and initiation begins now, whelp.” He clapped a hand on her shoulder, smiled, and slowly made his way back inside Jorrvaskr.

Farkas and Aela made their way over. “Well fought!” Aela praised.

“You fought with vigor and honor, whelp,” Farkas said with a swell of his chest.

Aerisif was still confused. “So…am I a Companion now?” She watched the crowd disperse, entirely uninterested in her.

“Not yet,” Aela began. “Once you have run a few errands for us, and proven you can handle it, then you shall truly be a Companion and Shield-Sister,”

_Makes sense,_ Aerisif thought. _Wasn’t so easy to be welcomed into the Guild, either._

Vilkas swaggered up. “Well fought, whelp. Only way that could have gone better was if I had trained you myself,” he bragged. “Of course, there is still plenty of time for me to train you in other ways,” he said smugly.

“Talk like that again and I’ll wipe that smirk off your face with my blade,” Aerisif challenged.

But Vilkas only laughed. “Here, whelp, your first errand.” He shoved his sword in her hands. “Go have Eorland sharpen this.” He winked and left.

Once he was a few paces away, Aerisif spat on his sword.

“Don’t mind him, he’s done this with all the women who’ve joined after him,” Aela rolled her eyes. “As soon as he shed the title ‘whelp’ he started acting like Ysgramor himself had hand chosen him.”

“My brother is a braggart. Ignore him.” Farkas was watching Vilkas walk away, hands curled into fists.

“Best go take that sword up to Eorland. The sooner you finish the busy work, the sooner you can truly be a Companion,” Aela advised.

Aerisif sighed. _Not unlike joining the Guild at all,_ she thought as she began to walk up to the Skyforge.

***

“It’s madness,” Vex raised her mug for another swig.

“Three different people. Three! You think they’re all makin’ up the same story?”

“Yes! Yes I do!” Vex slammed the mug down.

Delvin pointed a finger at her. “I’m tellin’ you, the rumors are true. And you’re gonna regret not believin’ them sooner.”

Vex spat. “Delvin, you’re just being your superstitious self as usual. You sound like an old fishwife. The dragons are not rising from the dead. That’s impossible.”

Delvin opened his mouth to answer when a ragged figure entered the Flagon. He squinted and reached for his weapon to hold off the stranger when he recognized the mess of red hair.

“Brynjolf, mate! Bout damn time you came back from that job. Takin’ your sweet time these days.” He took another look at the Guild Second. Brynjolf was caked in a layer of mud and blood, and what skin showed through the grime was pale and sickly. He was limping, and clutching his abdomen. Brynjolf’s expression was shell shocked. Worst of all, he was alone. “Bryn? Where’s the boss?” Delvin asked nervously.

Brynjolf shakily made his way to the table. “Gone.” His voice was no more than a whisper.

Vex and Delvin shared a worried look. “What do you mean, gone?” Vex asked.

It was then they saw the madness in Brynjolf’s bloodshot eyes. “She’s…Aer—“ He choked back a sob. “There was a trap,” his voice was high and thin. “Imperials. Got us both in the Jeralls.”

Delvin, wide eyed, helped Brynjolf into a chair.

“They separated us, beat us. Aerisif fought hard and they took her away.”

“We’ll go get her,” Vex stood from the table. She may not be best friends with Aerisif, but no one was going to fuck with her Guild Master.

“Vex—“

“This damned war has gone too far, I say its time for us to use our pull and end this—“

“Vex, they had Ulfric on the same wagon! They took them to Helgen! To be executed!” Brynjolf was shouting. His voice echoed in the cavernous Flagon. “And they were all killed! All of them!”

“Mate, you said Helgen?” Delvin asked softly.

Brynjolf turned to him, tears flowing welling in his eyes. “Aye,” his voice returning to a whisper. “Helgen. It’s true. A dragon razed Helgen. I saw the monster with mine own eyes, flying away. The damned dragons have returned, and that monstrous black bastard killed our Aerisif.” His voice was trembling with rage.

The following silence was deafening.

“Maybe she got out? There never was a tight situation the boss couldn’t get herself out of,” Delvin tried to sound hopeful.

Brynjolf turned to him with a crazed look. “Tight situation? Tight situation?! Delvin, she was facing a dragon! A DAMNED DRAGON!” He was shouting again, his voice raw with emotion. “SHE WAS BOUND AND UNARMED, AGAINST. A GODS DAMNED. DRAGON!” Brynjolf was fuming. “I went in. I got there as soon as I could, to the ruins.” His eyes were wide and unfocused. “Ashes everywhere. Smoke, embers still burning. And the bodies, Divines, the bodies!” He sobbed. “Unrecognizable, charred. Desecrated beyond belief.” He sobbed again.

“Aerisif is really dead?” Vex sounded almost scared.

Brynjolf nodded through his tears. The Flagon rang with the sound of his sobbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter for you guys, and a day early! Hope you enjoy, leave me a message if you do! Thanks!


	5. Not A Monster

Aerisif’s eyes slowly adjusted to the dim lighting of Dustman’s Cairn. The air was cool and stale. Aerisif slowly made her way down the steps toward the room she could see ahead of her.

A few sconces lit the chamber, with an altar in the middle and several tombs around the walls.

“Looks like someone’s been digging here. And recently,” Farkas noted the unsettled dirt around the chamber. “Tread lightly.”

Relieved didn’t begin to describe how Aerisif felt when she had been told Farkas would monitor her on her Trial. She couldn’t deny that she had begun to feel comfortable with him. Farkas had proven himself trustworthy and loyal.

But the relief she had felt when she had been given this assignment had faded away, replaced with high nerves. _This is the real test. After this, I am truly a Companion. A real warrior._ She narrowed her eyes in focus, searching for other signs of unrest in the chamber.

The pair moved down, treading lightly as Farkas had advised. Aerisif stepped around the crusty corpse of a draugr. They reached a maze of a burial chamber, shelves stacked around upright tombs.

“Be careful around those burial stones,” Farkas advised. “I don’t want to haul you back to Jorrvaskr on my back,” he muttered shyly.

Aerisif nodded and gripped her stolen blade tighter.

The snarl of a draugr made both their heads snap toward the sound. It was maybe fifteen paces away, in the next chamber, but it had seen them.

Aerisif charged, blade raised. She timed her swing perfectly, and sliced the draugr across its torso just as she had bore down upon it. The draugr staggered, giving Aerisif time for a second swing. It regained its balance and slashed out with its axe. Aerisif was ready for it and blocked the attack easily. She shifted and turned the defense to the offense, and dealt the final blow. It crumpled to the ground, ancient bones snapping.

Aerisif looked back to Farkas, who had similarly dispatched another draugr. They nodded in acknowledgement of the other’s battle, and carried on.

The next chambers seemed more ancient than the first, partially collapsed and covered in webs. Aerisif silently trod on, not wanting to disturb the draugr. She cringed with every one of Farkas’s loud, steel-clad foot falls.

Another set of stairs lay before them. Aerisif led them down into a large, circular room. Smaller chambers were tucked into all the sides, some with large iron gates down.

She turned to Farkas and shrugged. She lowered her blade in search of something to hint at the fragment she had been sent for, or at least a way past this room.

In one chamber she found several potions on a dust coated bookshelf. She pocketed those. Her eyes swept past ruined books and embalming tools. A rusty lever stuck out to her. _This will probably raise the other gates,_ she thought as she gave it a strong pull.

The loud grinding of metal right behind her filled her with dread. She turned around, wide eyed, to see that she had only succeeded in closing herself into the chamber. She turned back to the lever. She pulled and pulled, even sheathing her sword to use both hands, but it would not budge. Either from age or ill intentions, this lever was stuck.

 _Gods, what a fool I look like now._ ****

Farkas ran over. “Kjolti! Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Farkas,” she hung her head. “Just ashamed.”

“Well, not to worry. Just sit tight. I’ll find the release.”

As he said the words, a new wave of dread hit Aerisif. Several figures began to appear out of the shadows, weapons drawn. Live figures.

“Farkas!” Aerisif shouted, drawing her blade, even though she was trapped inside.

Farkas wheeled, facing his attackers. At least five of the Silver Hand formed a semi-circle around him.

“It’s time to die, dog,” one of them spat.

“We knew you’d be coming here,” another snarled.

Farkas adjusted his grip on his greatsword, assessing the situation.

“Your mistake, Companion,” the one in the middle said.

“Which one is that?”

Farkas began backing toward the iron gate.

“It doesn’t matter,” the middle one said acidly. “He wears that armor, he dies.”

“Killing you will make for an excellent story,” the one on the end crept closer.

Aerisif felt her heart pounding in her chest. She was helpless to aid him. _Gods, there’s too many of them They’re gonna kill him, then me._

Farkas had calculated the odds. “None of you will be alive to tell it.” He sheathed his blade, to Aerisif’s horror. He seemed…calm?

Suddenly, Aerisif felt a change in the air. She watched with sick fascination as Farkas began to shift. His bones cracked as they grew, and his armor faded into course fur. His steel gauntlets gave way to long, fearsome claws. But what was most astonishing was his head. The face that Aerisif had come to find comfort in was replaced with the terrible, twisted face of a beast, complete with tall pointed ears, and a gruesome jaw filled with rows of razor sharp teeth.

_He’s a werewolf._

And suddenly it all made sense. The wolf sigil, the Hircine worship.

 _Are they ALL werewolves?_ She shuddered to think of the threat a mead hall of werewolves posed.

In his beast form, Farkas was a force unbound. He leapt upon the terrified Silver Hand, swiping them away with his massive paws as if they were no more than flies. He snapped and growled with his jaws, bounding toward the enemy easily. Those that resisted his sharp claws met their end in his maw. In werewolf form, five Silver Hand were absolutely no threat to Farkas.

The one that called him dog had fled away in terror. Not one to leave a job half done, Farkas bounded after him. Still clinging to the iron gate keeping her from the fray, Aerisif heard a sickening crunch and scream, and knew the coward had met his due end.

***

Farkas craned his neck, readjusting to his human frame. He looked around him. The bloodied body of the last Silver Hand he had mauled lay before him, mangled. He was in a tunnel that led away from the main room.

 _Kjolti!_ Panicked, Farkas threw the first lever he could find, praying to Hircine it would open the gate that held her. _At least she was safe behind the gate._

He bolted back into the room, and released his breath when he saw Kjolti released from the side chamber. She eyed him curiously.

 _Now she knows my secret. Our secret._ He hoped Kodlak would understand that he had to transform in front of her. It was the only way.

Farkas hesitated in front of Kjolti. He was unsure of what to say.

Silence sat still and heavy between them. Farkas couldn’t take it, he had to say something.

“I’m a werewolf.” _You idiot._

Kjolti nodded, looking around the room. “Yeah, I saw.”

“Are you afraid of me?” He asked gruffly.

She finally met his eyes. Farkas was confused when instead of fear or disgust, he found understanding in her gaze. “No.”

He was taken aback. “You’re not?”

Kjolti sighed sadly, a distant look in her eye. “I’ve known many monsters, Farkas. You’re not one of them. In whichever form.” She moved away and began looting the bodies.

But Farkas was dumbstruck. Never had anyone ever reacted that way to seeing him as a werewolf. Though in truth, it was mostly The Circle who saw him in beast form, and for anyone else, his beast form was the last thing they saw.

The image of her eyes looking at him with fascination, not fear, captivated him. No one who had seen him in beast form had looked upon the transformation without terror-filled eyes.

Kjolti’s words kept echoing in his head. The soft spot in his heart, the spot he tried to deny as hard as he could, was feverishly thumping and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

They carried on through the crypt, and Kjolti carried herself with honor. Farkas watched with pride as she fiercely flung herself toward Silver Hand and draugr alike. She seemed fearless as she fought her way through the winding tunnels and chambers.

Finally, they reached a large hall. The only light shined on an impressive altar at the far side, backed by an ornate curved wall. Farkas could feel it. The fragment was here.

Kjolti could feel it too. She seemed drawn to the altar, eyes wide. He wanted to race to the altar, recover the fragment for the glory of Ysgramor, but he resisted. This was her mission, not his. He waited as she hurried toward the altar.

But instead of picking up the fragment that was so clearly displayed there, she ran past it to the curved wall. She stood there, staring at the wall.

“Kjolti? It’s right there. Pick up the fragment.” But it was like she couldn’t hear him. He moved around and saw her face.

Her silver eyes were wide with terror now. Farkas couldn’t understand why; this wall held no threat, only ancient engravings that only the scholars bothered with. But there she stood, seemingly transfixed by it. Suddenly her face blinked back to life, as if some spell was broken.

“Kjolti, are you okay?” Farkas stepped toward her. Kjolti recoiled. _What magic is this?_

She blinked again, looking more like herself, and quickly reached out and grabbed the fragment. Before Farkas could open his mouth again, the stony tomb covers burst open, and draugr began spilling out all around them. Both Farkas and Kjolti drew their weapons in a flash and leapt into battle.

The pair were fearsome in combat. They threw themselves toward the undead, slashing and whirling and cleaving the draugr. Farkas could not help but be proud of Kjolti as she flung herself toward danger at every turn.

Wave after wave of undead fell upon them, but all were met with steel and vigor. Soon, corpses of draugr lay at their feet, scattered all about the hall. Kjolti looked around the hall, panting. Farkas was equally breathless.

When it seemed that the draugr would rise no more, Kjolti lowered her blade. “I think that’s all of them,” she breathed. She made no indication of the events that transpired before the draugr awoke.

Farkas was confused, but decided to say nothing. “Seems like it. We should get back to Jorrvaskr. The others will be waiting to hear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aerisif/Kjolti learns the Companions' secret! As always, I love to hear from you if you enjoyed what you read, so leave a message or a heart or whatever!
> 
> I guess this is also the time and place to share that you can also find me on Tumblr at wit-beyond-me. My blog is basically TES and DnD and other Nerd Shit, with the occasional ramblings about my life. Feel free to find me there too!


	6. Kjolti Of The Companions

Aerisif felt her stomach turn as she saw Vilkas waiting for them on the steps to the mead hall.

“Brother!” he called to Farkas, who nodded by way of greeting. Vilkas turned to Aerisif. “We’ve been awaiting your return.”

She scrunched up her face. “Why should I care?”

“What manners, to return a warm welcome with such ice. Come, follow me.” Vilkas turned and walked to the backside of Jorrvaskr. Aerisif looked at Farkas, who only indicated she should follow.

Vilkas led her to the training grounds, where she found Kodlak, Skjor, and Aela all awaiting her. Farkas and Vilkas filled in the semi-circle, and then she understood.

Kodlak spoke in his booming voice. “Brothers and Sisters of the Circle, today we welcome a new soul into our mortal fold.” He smiled at Aerisif. “This woman has endured, has challenged, and has shown her valor. Who will speak for her?”

Farkas took a step forward. “I stand witness to the courage of the soul before us.” There was a swell of his chest as he spoke.

Kodlak called again. “Would you raise your shield in her defense?”

Farkas answered. “I would stand at her back, that the world might never overtake us.” Aerisif noted he would not look at her as he spoke the words.

“And would you raise your sword in her honor?”

“It stands ready to meet the blood of her foes.” There was something strange in Farkas’s voice, but Aerisif seemed to be the only one who noticed.

“And would you raise a mug in her name?”

“I would lead the song of triumph as our mead hall reveled in her stories.”

Kodlak turned his gaze back on Aerisif. “Then the judgement of this Circle is complete. Her heart beats with fury and courage that have united the Companions since the days of the distant green summers. Let it beat with ours, that the mountains may echo and our enemies may tremble at the call.”

The members of the Circle spoke in unison. “It shall be so,” their grave voices called out.

“Hail Kjolti of the Companions!” Kodlak shouted.

“Kjolti of the Companions!” Came the resounding response.

And in that moment, Aerisif felt a true sense of accomplishment. Aerisif tilted her chin up with pride. _I’ve done it. I’m a Companion. I’m a warrior now,_ she thought.

As soon as they had finished, Farkas very quickly slunk away. Aerisif was perplexed and was about to stop him when Kodlak approached her.

“Well, Gardimor’s girl, you’re one of us now. I know you won’t disappoint.” He smiled kindly at her. “But now! Come, enter the great mead hall Jorrvaskr for the first time as a Shield-Sister. Share our mead and fire, and revel in stories of the glories of the Companions!”

And revel she did. As soon as she pushed open the doors to Jorrvaskr, she was greeted with a hearty cheer from the Companions inside. Aela led her to a seat around the great table that filled the mead hall. A tankard was shoved into her hands. Aerisif took a sip.

Argonian Bloodwine! Aerisif’s eyes widened with joy at her favorite drink.

“Drink! Drink! Drink!” The Companions began to egg her on.

Not one to disappoint, Aerisif tipped her head back and downed the whole thing in one go. The resounding cheers were deafening. No sooner had she set down her tankard than it was filled again.

“No mug shall run dry tonight, Shield-Sister!” Skjor smiled as he finished pouring the dark liquid into her cup. He sat down on the bench next to her. “You’ve carried yourself well, in these last weeks. You should be proud.”

Spurred on by the rush of Bloodwine to her head, Aerisif tilted her chin up. “I am proud. I’ve worked hard.”

She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Kodlak joining their conversation. “Your father would have been proud of you, too. He wanted the world for you, you know.”

That caught Aerisif like a punch to the nose, and she struggled not to cry. She was saved from answering by a loud Aela.

“Shield-Sister!” She roared in welcome, spreading her arms wide. Not usually one for hugs, Aerisif took it as a way to evade Kodlak and Skjor’s conversation. “I told you it would not be long before you were a true Companion.”

“Aye, it seems you were right, Shield-Sister,” Aerisif felt something strange using the term.

“The honor you have already brought to our halls will only grow with your years among our ranks. You shall serve the Companions well.”

Aerisif smiled. “Thank you, Aela.”

Aela raised her mug. “To our newest Companion!”

“To our newest Companion!” came the echoing cheer. Another tankard down.

And another, and another. The night was easily drank away in the mead hall. Aerisif could feel the alcohol numbing her, and she loved it. The numbness fought off the deep emotions she was feeling after her Kodlak’s remark about her father.

Aerisif eventually caught Farkas in the crowd. He was sitting alone in a corner, watching the revery, mug in hand. She marched over.

“Why did you leave?”

He was caught off guard. “Huh?”

“Right after the ceremony. My abduction. Induction,” she corrected herself with a hiccup. “You left really fast.”

Farkas grew red. “Kjolti, I—“

“That hurt, you know. I trust you. You’ve been there for me through this whole process, and you should have been the first to offer congratulations.”

Farkas blinked. “Congratulations, Shield-Sister. I am honored to welcome you into our hall, Kjolti.” And then he smiled big. She held her mug up to his. He met the toast with vigor, and they both downed their drinks.

“I wonder if there’s more of that boar,” Aerisif muttered and wandered off to the great table again.

Farkas sighed as she left.

On the other side of the hall, Aela watched Farkas. She saw how his face fell when Aerisif walked away. She watched him look at her with round eyes as she chatted and laughed with the other Companions. She watched him mindlessly grab another tankard, sigh into it, and drink it all.

_Oh Divines,_ Aela thought.

Aerisif sat down with a haunch of honey roasted something. She attacked the meat, finding more hunger in her inebriation.

“A woman with an appetite, thats what I like to see!” Vilkas approached. “If you find that you have other hungers that need to be sated, I’m your man to satisfy them.” He grinned at her.

Aerisif look at him with annoyance and finished chewing. “You really don’t take a hint, do you?”

Vilkas slid onto the bench next to her. She could feel his warm, mead drenched breath. “Ah, the kindest words you’ve said to me yet! I’m making progress.”

“Progress toward what? To getting me in bed with you? Vilkas, let me make this easy for you. I am never. Going. To sleep with you.”

But always to her surprise, Vilkas was not bothered by these words. “I like a good challenge, Kjolti.” He winked. “The hunt is half the fun.”

She rolled her eyes in disgust, and left to find another table.

Hours later, the feast was winding down. Kodlak, Skjor, and many of the other Companions had already retired. The fire was dwindling. Empty kegs of mead were strewn about the hall.

Aerisif sat on a bench, deep into her cups. She also should have retired long ago, but when drinking was so rewarded among her new peers, it was hard to turn down a full mug. She absently listened as Vilkas slid down into the living quarters with the busty bard that had been singing for them that night.

And suddenly, out of absolutely nowhere, Aerisif was struck with emotion. Something in the atmosphere was just too akin to a memory, to a different version of herself. Jorrvaskr suddenly seemed like a husk of the Ragged Flagon, these Companions just shades of her beloved Guild Members. Aerisif began to panic. She looked around the room, trying to see not the Ratway but the grand mead hall. Her eyes landed on the emerald embellishments on Aela’s armor.

They looked to her just like emerald eyes.

Then she lost it.

She pushed herself up in distress, knocking over her mug. It clanged to the floor, catching the attention of Aela and Farkas.

“Sister?” Aela asked, concern painting her face. But Aerisif was already gone. She ran, pushed open the doors of Jorrvaskr and dove into the night.

Aela and Farkas launched themselves after her. They followed her up the path to the Skyforge. She was sobbing now, they could hear it. They found her curled into a ball in the corner farthest from the fire, wailing.

Aela sat down next to her, and Farkas dropped himself into the dirt in front of Aerisif.

“Kjolti, what is it?” Aela asked softly.

Aerisif just shook her head, unable to speak. Aela reached an arm around her and Aerisif collapsed into Aela’s lap. Aela gently stroked her hair, softly whispering soothing sounds.

Farkas stared at Aerisif’s anguish torn face. It broke him to see her in tears like this. He wanted to help, but had no idea what to do.

“Gone,” Aerisif sobbed.

“Who’s gone, sister?” Aela whispered.

“All of them. Everyone. Everything. Gone. Because of me.” Aerisif hiccuped through her tears.

“Shh, Kjolti, shh. Talos has them now, they’re safe.”

Aerisif only sobbed harder.

Farkas cautiously reached a thick arm out and patted Aerisif on the shoulder. “You’re safe now, Kjolti. You’re safe here.”

Aerisif sniffed.

Aela met eyes with Farkas. Her glance was warning, and the message was clear: tread lightly. Farkas looked back down at Aerisif, and he felt that soft spot pulse again.

Aerisif had closed her eyes, and was barely awake.

“Let’s get her inside,” Aela suggested. Farkas lifted Aerisif right off the ground and held her in his thick arms. Aela stood and led the way.

Farkas carried her down from the Skyforge, though the mead hall, and into the living quarters beneath. His heart pounded as he carried Kjolti in his arms. He tried not to look down on her half-asleep face. Aela opened the door to Aerisif’s room, and Farkas gently lay her down.

“I’ve got it from here, Farkas,” Aela whispered. Her eyes were not whispering.

“But—“

“Go now. You’ve done plenty.”

With one last look at Kjolti’s figure laid out on the furs, he turned and left.

***

Brynjolf leaned lazily against his market stall. He hadn’t the energy to con the good citizens of Riften today, so he just sat there. Lately, he’d been tired all the time. His hand was wrapped around a bottle of Black-Briar mead. The market echoed with bartering and gossip.

The afternoon sun was warm on his face, and the air was fresh. The breeze was sweeping away any odors the fishery was producing. _Aerisif would have loved this kind of a day._

He took another swig of mead. It seemed there was nearly always a bottle or tankard in his hand these days. _Just to take the edge off,_ he reasoned. _Just to get through the day._

Brynjolf sighed. Since losing Aerisif, nothing felt right anymore. Her silver eyes haunted him every time he closed his eyes. _I failed you_ , he told them. _I’m sorry, lass._ He’d been avoiding the other thieves lately too. He couldn’t meet their eyes, bear the shame of being responsible for losing the best Guild Master they’d ever had.

And none of them even knew the depths of it. They didn’t know that he and Aerisif had been so much more than associates. Brynjolf and Aerisif had both decided it was for the best that the Guild not know of their relationship. It was their secret, which made it twice the fun.

But while it had been fun to have their clandestine relationship, now that she was gone, the hole she left seemed larger than him. He couldn’t tell anyone about it, had to hide the depths of his grief from everyone. Had to make it look like he wasn’t grieving the loss of a lover. He would honor their agreement to silence, even in Aerisif’s absence. He wouldn’t even tell Delvin.

Brynjolf took a shaky breath in and sighed it out heavily. The gossip around the market chattered around him.

“…survived Helgen!”

Brynjolf shot up. _What was that?_

He listened closer.

“Ulfric’ll rally his Stormcloaks, you’ll see. The war is not over as long as Ulfric is alive!”

From the painful folds of his memory, Brynjolf recalled seeing the Jarl gagged and bound in that camp, and thrown on the same cart as Aerisif.

_Ulfric’s alive. There was at least one survivor. And if he could do it, so could Aerisif._

Brynjolf calculated a plan for a moment, and then took off from the market, startling the shoppers. He had places to be.


	7. Blood Of The Wolf

“Are you prepared?” Skjor’s voice was low and grave.

Aerisif frowned at the stony outline of a door she had never seen before. “What is this place?” In the months since she had joined the Companions, Skjor had never specifically chosen her for a task. Her curiosity was gnawing at her.

Skjor seemed impatient. “Jorrvaskr is the oldest building in Whiterun. The Skyforge was here long before it was. The Underforge taps an ancient magic that is older than men or elves,” Skjor pulled a hidden chain and the rock opened. “We bring you here to make you stronger, new blood. Now let’s move.”

Kjolti followed him into the dark cave.

“I’m glad you came,” Skjor continued. He glanced back at her, and his expression changed into a more fatherly demeanor. “It’s been a long time since we had a heart like yours among our numbers.”

Aerisif didn’t know what to say to that, but straightened her spine a little.

Then she saw Aela. But she didn’t look like Aela.

Instead of the fire-haired huntress that Kjolti had grown comfortable with, in the back of the cave crouched a fully transformed werewolf. But her eyes gave her away. The eyes were still Aela, kind and wise, still the friend she had found.

Skjor continued like nothing was unsettling at all. “That pitiful ceremony behind the hall is quaint, but it does not befit warriors like us. You are due more honor than some calls and feasting.”

Aerisif didn’t know what to think. She had thought the ceremony and feast was enjoyable, mostly, but Skjor was talking so highly of her she didn’t want to speak up.

“I would hopeyou recognize Aela, even in this form,” Skjor looked lovingly at the werewolf looming over him.

“Of course I do. It’s in her eyes, I can see her.” Kjolti looked directly into Aela’s green eyes, and received a nod and a very wolfish grin from her.

“She’s agreed to be your forebear,” Skjor turned back to Kjolti.

“Oh,” Kjolti realized with a shock the choice she was about to face.

Skjor didn’t seem to have heard her, and continued on in a harsher tone than before. “We do this in secret because Kodlak is too busy trying to throw away this great gift we have been granted.”

Aerisif felt uncomfortable listening to Skjor talk about Kodlak like this, but kept her mouth shut.

Skjor was pacing about the cave now. “He thinks we’ve been cursed. But we’ve been blessed! How can something that gives this kind of prowess be a curse!” Skjor threw his hands in the air, exasperated. “So, we take matters into our own hands.” He crossed his arms. “To reach the heights of the Companions, you must join with us in the shared blood of the wolf.”

Aerisif could feel the dragon inside her rising.

“Are you prepared to join your spirit with the beast world, Kjolti?”

The beast inside her was pulling at its restraints, trying to leap out of her chest.

 _Might as well,_ she thought darkly.

“I’m ready,” she said.

“Very well!” Skjor said with pride. He then walked over to Aela, gently stroked the coarse fur on her back, then pulled a dagger and quickly sliced open her arm. Blood spilled, filling the ritual basin in front of Aerisif. “Drink, sister.”

 _No turning back now,_ Aerisif thought. She cupped the thick, hot blood in her hands and sipped. She faintly heard Skjor call “To Hircine!” as everything went black.

***

What followed was unlike anything Aerisif had experienced before. She felt her flesh burn. Her spine cracked and snapped as it grew and strengthened. Her arms shot out and she felt claws emerging from her fingertips. Her feet stretched past the boundaries of her boots, she felt a tail grow from the base of her spine. Aerisif bit her tongue as suddenly her mouth lengthened and grew more teeth.

But mostly, she felt _power._

Aerisif was running, testing the newfound muscle in her hind legs. She felt the cold midnight stone of Whiterun under her paws. She could leap fifteen, twenty paces!

The screams of the few citizens out on the streets only fueled her. She stood on her hind legs, long arms spread wide, and howled. She called long and hard to Hircine, he who had blessed her with this great power!

She ran and ran. Aerisif did not bother with the cries of men. She lashed out with her claws, striking at any who dare interfere. Her jaws snapped and she growled, ears laying back on her fearsome head. Coppery blood filled her mouth, that of a coward who thought he could run from her.

Aerisif tilted her head back again and howled to tell all of her might.

And then everything went black again.

***

“Are you awake?”

Aerisif blinked. She was sitting up against a log, wet snow all around her.

“I was starting to think you might never come back, sister.”

Aerisif’s head pounded harder than any hangover she’d ever had. “Aela? What happened?”

Aela sat down beside her. “Yours was not an easy transformation, Kjolti. But, you’re still alive, so congratulations.”

Aerisif rubbed her eyes. “What did I do?”

“Well, you scared most of Whiterun half to their graves,” Aela began. Aerisif detected a hint of pride in her voice. “And you sent a couple of the guard to Sovngarde.”

Kjolti felt blank. “I killed a couple of guardsmen?”

“By tooth and claw of Hircine,” Aela nodded. “Skjor and I have a celebration planned for you.”

Aerisif’s head was clouded. “Another?”

Aela laughed heartily. “There’s a group of werewolf hunters over there at Gallows Rock,” Aela motioned up the hill. “The Silver Hand. I think you’ve met them before.” She grinned. “We’re going to slaughter them. All of them.”

Aerisif felt her blood burn. She felt a thirst, no, a _hunger._ A deep, clawing hunger. The dragon inside her, the one that had awoken at Helgen, was alive. It yanked and shook and roared. It made her blood burn with a persistence she had not known before. She stood and drew her blade. “Let’s go.”

“Lead on. Skjor went scouting ahead.”

Aerisif charged toward the keep. She spotted a Silver Hand sentry and bore down on him, blade swinging. One of Aela’s arrows appeared in the man’s side before Aerisif rent him in two. Aela caught up and they barreled through the door.

They entered a small chamber lit with a fire, their passage blocked by iron bars.

“Look at this. Cowards must have locked the place down after Skjor charged in. You can taste the fear.” Aela licked her lips.

“How rude of them to keep us waiting for the main course,” Aerisif grinned. She pulled the chain to lower the gate before charging onward again.

The two Silver Hand in the next chamber had not the time to realize they were under attack before one of Aela’s arrows found the eye of one, and Aerisif’s greatsword took the head off the other. Aerisif looked up from her kill and stopped in her tracks.

“There’s a dead one, isn’t there. Thought so.” Aela sounded cold. Aerisif nodded, transfixed by the lifeless form of one of her beastkin. Aela came up beside her. “Nobody we know, by the smell. Some can’t separate the animal from themselves. Go feral. This poor sod could have been anyone.”

Aerisif felt a relief that shocked her a little.

Aela noticed her expressions, and put a comforting hand on Aerisif’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s keep going.”

Aerisif nodded and moved onward. Her bloodlust was too strong to remain still. They continued down a narrow hall. “So, what are we celebrating this time?” she asked, slashing a spider web out of her way.

“You were born into the pack, sister. I almost envy you. The first time is always the most…intense.”

Aerisif barked a laugh. “Intense hardly describes it.”

“Indeed. You gave us more trouble than Farkas did at his first turning.”

“Really?”

“Really. And Farkas charged clean through the Temple.”

A scampering sound came to them. Aela killed the skeever in one clean shot.

“No surprise they keep vermin around. Filthy squalor.”

Aerisif sniffed. Men ahead. She looked at Aela. She could smell them too. They rushed up the stairs, Aela rapid firing arrows and Aerisif brandishing her blade wildly. Aerisif saw the trap from miles away and sidestepped it easily, and was able to catch the first Silver Hand off guard.

With Aela engaged in a shoot out with a woman down the hall, Aerisif took on two of the Silver Hand swordsman. She blocked most of their blows, barely feeling the ones that came through her defenses, wild in her frenzy.

Two bodies lay before her. She nodded at Aela, and they moved on.

The hall was lined with cells, many filled with the bodies of more beastkin.

“Nothing we can do for these ones, now,” Aela said grimly. “I don’t even want to think about what those cretins did to them before they died.”

The bodies only fueled Aerisif’s rage. Her head felt thick. She knew she wasn’t reasoning right, but it didn’t matter. This starving hunger in her was not yet sated.

They pushed onward, down the stairs and into another room. It was crawling with Silver Hand. With a mighty battle cry Aerisif ran in and took down the first foe that came to her. Aela covered those above with her bow while Aerisif charged from foe to foe, leaving bloody bodies in her wake.

A clean slice to her hip made her cry out. She took another hefty swing with her blade at the foe before her. Aerisif looked down at the wound. She should have been able to block that easily. She was being reckless in her bloodlust. She knew it, and she couldn’t care less. The power she felt was too electric. It was sweeter than any mead could ever be

Aerisif’s stomach turned at the sight of so many werewolf heads on pikes and placards. She gritted her teeth and charged on.

Aela stopped and sniffed. “We’re getting closer. Be careful. Their leader is a tricky one.”

“Why?” Aerisif cocked her head.

“They call him ‘The Skinner’. I don’t think I need to tell you why.”

Aerisif nodded grimly.

They pushed on through the next door. It was a small chamber that led on to another door. Aela and Aerisif both paused. They could smell blood. Skjor’s blood. Aerisif threw the door open.

The Skinner was poised over Skjor, who lay prone on the ground. The Skinner had a silver sword raised overhead.

“No!” Aela shouted, and released an arrow.

It pierced The Skinner’s skull with a sickening thud. He fell to the ground. The other Silver Hand in the chamber came rushing toward them. Aerisif charged forward to meet them.

The chamber rang with the sounds of silver clanging against steel, of bowstring twanging in release. Aerisif slew the enemy before her, pivoted fast and met blades with another.

The Silver Hand’s one handed sword swing faster than Aerisif’s greatsword, and she got a swing through Aerisif’s defenses. The silver cut deep, finding Aerisif’s bicep. Aerisif hissed and swung back. The woman hit the stone floor with a crunch. She did not rise again.

Aerisif turned and saw Aela engaged in a shoot out with a Silver Hand. Aerisif easily flanked the woman and ran her through. Many of Aela’s arrows protruded from the body.

She looked around the room. Blood and bodies were strewn about the floor. Aerisif was breathing heavily and hard, her own blood still racing.

Aela had ran over to Skjor and was kneeling beside him. “Skjor. Skjor! Wake up. Talk to me. Skjor.” Aela was trying hard to hide the panic her in voice.

Aerisif joined them. Skjor was pale as snow and breathing shakily. He had several deep wounds, all bleeding out. Aerisif felt dizzy. She felt like she was coming down from some sort of high. Seeing Skjor’s wounds was grounding her, bringing her back down to reality, where she had to take responsibility for her actions.

“Don’t you dare die on me, Skjor,” Aela sobbed. “We’re not done yet. It’s not time.”

Aerisif frantically dug through her pack.

Skjor turned to Aela. “Darling, it’ll be fine. Let me go.” His voice was thin and shaky.

Aela shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “No.”

His trembling hand reached out for hers. “I’ll see you on the Hunting Grounds, my love.”

“No, no, no.” Aela breathed. “No, not yet,” she moaned.

Aerisif found it. She pulled out the Potion of Plentiful Healing she had stolen a few moons back. She pulled out the stopper and threw it aside. Aela saw what she was doing and held open Skjor’s mouth. Aerisif thrust the spout of the bottle into Skjor’s open mouth.

Within seconds, Skjor blinked with a little more life. His wounds were still bloodied and open, but not bleeding out as they had been.

“We’ve got to get him back to Jorrvaskr,” Aerisif said. Her gut was twisting. “Come on.”

A stone faced Aela nodded, and together they picked up Skjor.

 _If he dies, his blood is on our hands,_ Aerisif realized with a lurch. She looked around at the bodies strewn on the floor, at the blood trickling from her own wounds. Her and Aela’s recklessness struck her.

_Shor’s bones, what have I done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's part 1! Part 2 is well underway, and once I'm done meddling with it I'll be posting. 
> 
> I'm sorry that I've turned this private, but due to a certain app it was necessary. 
> 
> I hope that you've enjoyed Aerisif's beginning with the Companions, and that you'll stick around for more soon!

**Author's Note:**

> Nice long chapter to start you off with! I'll be posting new chapters every week! If you enjoyed this, I do hope you'll keep reading. Leave me a kudos if you like, or if you really feel up to it leave me a comment! I love those! Thanks!


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